


First Time

by creepy_crawly



Series: Kpop Scenarios [2]
Category: Block B, K-pop
Genre: F/M, Porn, Reader-Insert, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-18
Updated: 2013-11-18
Packaged: 2018-01-01 22:52:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1049521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/creepy_crawly/pseuds/creepy_crawly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for a request on Tumblr.</p>
<p>Featuring Pyo Jihoon, reader, and some slightly more realistic first-time sexings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Time

**Author's Note:**

> Request was: Hi! I would like to make a request featuring Block B’s P.O. He is going to be intimate with his GF for the 1st time. When he sees him w/o clothes she mentions that has always heard talk about his “whale” and its not as big she imagined. So he feels like now he has to prove himself in bed. Something along those lines. I cant seem to word it correctly. Thats where you come in & add a little magic to the story. Thanks!
> 
>  
> 
> Here's to hoping I've done it some justice!

_IDOLS’ GAY TIMES!_ the headline screamed in bold red font. Underneath was a splash of pictures, mostly cropped at bad angles, almost all poorly lit, and uniformly fuzzy. The little blurb promised to tell you all about the ‘affairs of Hallyu stars!!!!’ if you’d only turn to page 58.

 

Snickering, you flipped open the cheap paper. There were many things to be said for reporting in South Korea, and when it came to the trashy tabloids, they all involved the word “hysterical.” You’d picked this rag up outside the company headquarters for less than the cost of a soda, and here it was, already promising hours of amusement. The manager you’d replaced had rolled his eyes when he saw what was in your hands, but, at this point, he really should have been used to it. Your love of trashy papers was well known among the company; the boys would bring you particularly choice copies or email you translations of the dreck floating around the internet, even.

 

You’d just settled into read about how Big Bang’s Daesung was apparently having a torrid affair with none other than actor Lee Min Ho (they’d been spotted in the same coffee shop in Gangnam; _scandalous!_ ) when the manager phone started chirping at you from the pocket of your coat. You dropped the paper to the floor of the car and leant over the emergency brake, rifling through the warm woolen fabric until you found the little green cellphone. It flashed a white speech bubble at you, letting you know that someone had texted it. You unlocked the phone quickly.

 

_Done in 5 can we stop by store I want chips_

You rolled your eyes. Of course he wanted chips. At least, that’s what he said he wanted. If you let him enter the store, he’d leave with a bag of chips, three sodas, a whole pint of ice cream, and some bizarre fruit-flavored item that he’d decided looked edible. And he never ate all of it. Ever. Inevitably, Jiho would end up whining about stomach cramps after eating the ice cream, Kyung would be bouncing off the walls from having had far too much sugar and caffeine in one go, Minhyuk would be brushing his teeth in a frantic attempt to rid himself of the fake fruit taste, and Jaehyo would be preemptively worrying about whether the grease he’d just licked off his fingers from splitting the bag with Jihoon would wind up on his face.

 

And you would be on the hook, because every single manager-hyung with the company was a massive wuss and somehow they all seemed to believe that “terminally stupid” was something you, a nurse, should deal with.

 

Flicking open the texting window, you shot back a quick reply. _Dnt fgt abt ur rx hell no thr r sum in the car._ That done, you dropped the manager phone and picked up your own. You shot a text to the manager-hyung, letting him know he owed you 5,000 won; you’d just won that bet fair and square. You may have also mentioned that Jihoon was on his way out and so he could stop worrying for five seconds, but the key thing was that he owed you.

 

You threw one last look at your trashy paper and then gathered up your purse and the two phones. The green got shoved in your left pocket, your personal phone in the right. You slung your purse—more of a combat carry-all—over your shoulder and headed to the front door of the hospital. You nodded at the admitting nurse politely even as you strode down the hall towards where you knew Jihoon would be. Checking your watch, you leant against the wall across from his doctor’s office.

 

Sure enough, maybe a minute later, the door cracked open, and the doctor stuck her head out. She frowned, momentarily, but her face cleared when she saw you. She quickly waved you into the office.

 

“We weren’t expecting you,” she said, closing the door with a snap behind you. “I thought it was the regular manager…?”

 

“Scheduling,” you said briefly, already opening your bag. You dug out a plain ballcap and a soft, if ugly, scarf. “Jihoonie, your wardrobe.”

 

He accepted the offered items, though he raised an eye at the scarf’s eye-popping color combination. “Doctor, if I could use a mask?”

 

She offered him one of the cheap, disposable surgical masks that lived in the box on her desk.

 

He quickly snapped it on, as if to protect himself from a cold, and then hid his bright, recognizable hair under the ballcap you’d brought in. Next, he started winding the scarf around his neck, piling it up so that it would hide his face. By the time he was done, you knew, he’d look like any other poor sod who’d come in for a chest cold.

 

You turned to the doctor. “His prescription?” you said, prompting her along. It wasn’t that you didn’t like her; in fact, all things said and done, she was probably one of the best at what she did. However, the longer Jihoon was here was the longer he wasn’t somewhere else, like taking advantage of his surprise day off. Not that he knew about that, yet.

 

“Mm, that’s right!” she said. Turning back to her desk, she quickly scribbled something out on her prescription pad. When it was done, she tore it off and held the paper out to you. “Same as always,” she said, “and it’s in his manager-hyung’s name, so you’ll need to get him to fill it.”

 

“Thank you,” he said, offering her a short bow.

 

You echoed the sentiment, receiving the piece of paper and then making it disappear into your bag. As you watched them say their goodbyes, you yanked out your personal phone and texted the man in question that he would have another task, as soon as he was done with ensuring that Jaehyo still had brains left in his skull. That done, you led Jihoon out of the office and down the hallway, back to your waiting car.

 

No sooner had the door of the vehicle snapped shut behind him than Jihoon was rooting through your purse in search of the promised chips.

 

Rolling your eyes, you reached behind the seat and pulled out the bag you’d picked up at the same convenience stand where you’d gotten your tabloid. You shook it in his face. “Your chips, Jihoonie.”

 

He smiled guiltily and accepted the bag. He placed it against his leg and started putting things back into the black hole you called a handbag. “So,” he said, moving his arm out of your way as you started the car, “wasn’t expecting you, noona.”

 

You snorted, checking over your shoulder. “Yeah, well, Jaehyo-ya apparently decided that falling on his head was a great addition to the choreography. I told your hyung to take him to hospital. Which left me to pick you up.”

 

Jihoon winced. “Is he okay?”

 

You nodded. “He’s fine. Mostly. Major headache, a goose-egg like you will not believe, but fine. I just want to get x-rays and a ct scan for proof, you know. To be sure. Either way. You’ve got the day off.”

 

“Oh, really?”

 

“Really,” you confirmed, taking advantage of a red light to smirk in his direction. “We both do, _oppa_.”

 

“What have I said about that word?” he groaned, leaning back in his seat, chips forgotten for the moment.

 

“Why do you think I used it?” you returned, grinning. You knew how weird he felt when you called him oppa. Partially because he was not, in fact, older than you, but mostly, the weirdness came from the fact that every girl ever screaming his name was calling him oppa. He didn’t want the girl he was _actually_ dating sounding like the ones clinging to the van doors _wishing_ they were dating him.

 

Which was something you totally got. Because you didn’t want to sound like them, and you sure as hell didn’t want him confusing you with them.

 

“The worst, noona,” he told you, shaking his head in complaint. “And to think. I’d been about to suggest we make use of this.”

 

You nearly crashed the car, barely restraining yourself from giving in to instinct and slamming your foot on the brake. Honestly, though, how were you supposed to react? There was Pyo Jihoon, grinning toothily and waving a condom in your face. And after that statement…!

 

He laughed, dropping the silver package back into the depths of your purse. “My, my, noona. Careful, there.”

 

“I’ll show you careful,” you muttered, looking for your turn. “You can’t just spring that on a girl!”

 

“Mm, okay,” he said, playing along. “Like this, then?”

 

You felt every nerve in your body light up as he placed his hand on your arm. God bless stop lights.

 

“Noona,” he purred, his voice growling along from the bottom of his chest. “We’ve been dating for a while, now. I think I’d like to take things…further.”

 

You swallowed convulsively, trying not to think about the heavy, bedroom-soft tone of his voice or the way his eyes went liquid and dark or the fact that, underneath all the playing and gaming, he sounded like any other young man hoping to take the next step.

 

“My apartment?” you asked, finally. Your voice was strangled and strange.

 

He grinned. He knew that he’d won. But he was gracious in his victory. “Sounds great.”

 

\---

 

Your apartment was dark and cold when the two of you arrived, but that was easily remedied. Flicking on the lights, you sent Jihoon out to the living room to pick a movie while you started the popcorn and texted his manager—the real one, not someone like you, filling in—that you had Jihoon and he was safe. You shot something of similar effect to the other poor soul who’d been roped into riding herd on the group, and then turned off the manager phone. Nervously, you watched the popcorn going round and round in the microwave, waiting for it to pop.

 

If you were completely honest, this had not been your plan for the day. Which wasn’t to say you weren’t down with it! No, no, you didn’t not want to have sex with Jihoon. Which was to say, you did want to have sex with Jihoon.

 

You just hadn’t.

 

Not yet. You’d been dating him for a while—privately, because while his bandmates knew and management knew (and pretended not to) and your mother kinda knew, you refused to let him go public with it, for fear of what would happen to him. And to you. Those fangirls could be frightening! But sex hadn’t really come up before. Well, okay, in some ways, it had—you snickered at the bad euphemism; dick jokes would never not be funny—but while you’d kissed and you’d definitely snogged and Jihoon’s hands had become really fucking familiar with removing your bra and cradling your breasts, neither of you had lost pants. You’d not even fully lost your shirt.

 

It wasn’t that you were a virgin and saving it for some special occasion; no, you knew what you enjoyed and when you enjoyed it and “sex, on your terms” was one of those things. You certainly looked forward to getting Jihoon into a bed for some naughtiness, because he was silly and sweet and gentle and passionate in his everyday life, and you knew that he’d be gentle and sweet and passionate and silly between the sheets, too.

 

The time had just…never been right, before.

 

Was it now?

 

“Yah, noona, what’s taking so long?” Jihoon asked, bouncing into the kitchen. He slowed down when he saw you, and his bright smile slipped down into a worried frown. “Noona? Is everything okay?”

 

You shook your head quickly to clear it of your meandering thoughts, then smiled up at him. “Yeah, yeah. I’m fine, Jihoonie.” You paused, then bit your lip and confessed. “I’m just…nervous.”

 

“Nervo – oh.” His turn to bite his lip. “Noona,” he started, hesitant. He reached out and put one large hand on your upper arm, the other on your other shoulder. “If you’re not ready… if you don’t want… I mean…” He fumbled, clearly struggling for how to get the idea across.

 

Luckily for him, you had kind of picked up on it already. Smiling again, you buried yourself against his strong chest and tucked your arms around his hips. “I do want,” you said, feeling his arms come around you, cradling you tight. “Trust me. I _so_ do want. It’s just… it’s been a while, okay? I don’t want to mess this up. I don’t want to mess _us_ up.”

 

He tipped your chin up with the tip of one finger, swooping down to press a soft, chaste kiss on your lips. “I’m twenty-one,” he murmured, still bent down, his face barely inches from yours. “Trust me. No matter what, this will not mess us up. Even if we manage to completely fuck up the sex.” He grinned brightly. “Like I said. I’m twenty-one. No such thing as bad sex.”

 

You snorted. “Charming as ever, Hoonie.”

 

“Always,” he agreed, wiggling his eyebrows. He laughed, startled, as you elbowed him in the gut, and then began to crush you in his embrace, his long, strong body folding around you like a prison of flesh and muscle.

 

All you could do was flail and swear, though that wasn’t too effective, because you were laughing too hard to really be understandable, let alone threatening. There were many things you loved about Pyo Jihoon, and heaven help you if you ever had to rank them, but the fact that he was a massive goofball was definitely very high on the list. Even when he was so stressed he was nearly crying—or actually crying; that had happened before—he could still find a reason and a way to make the people around him smile. You could usually find him by the sound of his laughter, because the deep, rich sound was nearly a constant.

 

And you were always laughing when you were with him.

 

You howled with laughter as his long fingers found their way to the ticklish spots along your sides, just under your ribcage. You took your revenge for the deft motion of his hands with a swift attack of your own, targeting the line down the center of his chest, just above his belly button.

 

He yelled and squirmed, trying to bat your hands away with one hand even as he tried to press the advantage he had (damn him being so tall!) with the other. It didn’t really work; he stumbled and, in an effort not to fall on top of you, yanked you down to the floor with him as he fell.

 

You landed square on top of him, your face slamming into his pecs. Somehow, you managed to not knee him anywhere too sensitive, nor land awkwardly on your wrists. Awkwardly, you sat up, looking in concern to his gape-mouthed fish-face.

 

There was a moment of stunned silence between the pair of you, and then, as soon as he could pull in enough air, Jihoon was laughing. He laughed with no care for how it made him look, his head thrown back, jaw dropped, mouth stretched wide. His eyes were squeezed shut and his cheeks were bright, vivid red. His chest leapt and shook as he laughed, and he held your hips in the cradle of his large hands.

 

“Mm, think this means I win,” you said, smirking down at him when he had calmed down enough to hear you.

 

“Oh, really?” His voice rumbled through where the two of you were pressed together.

 

The vibration distracted you, which was your only excuse for what happened next.

 

Jihoon’s hands slid around the slope of your body until you were wrapped tight in his arms. One long leg tangled tighter with your own, the warmth of his calf pressed against the back of your knees. He reached up, started plying his fingers through the length of your ponytail where it was bound up against your head.

 

And then, with a quick twist of his hips, he rolled you both, so that you ended up underneath the long stretch of him, now twice as tangled, a breathless, giggling knot of limbs and love.

 

“Think I won,” Jihoon said, still trying to catch his breath as he watched you.

 

You snickered, but your giggles were slowly dying down. He wasn’t tickling you any longer; rather, Jihoon was just holding you, watching you, smiling at you with a strange, gentle look in his eyes. With every breath, you could feel that look sinking into you, twining itself around your lungs, your heart, your bones. Your eyes locked with his, and you suddenly understood what all those love songs had said about seeing each other’s souls.

 

You couldn’t look away.

 

“Jagi,” Jihoon whispered, leaning close, and then his lips were on yours.

 

He kissed you sweet and slow, a gentle press of lips to lips, the kind of contact that was more about the long build of a warm pleasure than the rampant desire of heated desperation. His chapped lips stuttered against yours, and you could feel his hands tighten their grip on your body just a little more. You shifted, slightly, and your nose bumped against his, but that didn’t stop you. Why would it? Your whole world was shrinking down until it was here, caught in this tiny place where you were joined, where you shared the same air. And that was enough.

 

You tangled your hands in his hair, grateful that he’d forgone his usual updo for today. His hair was soft beneath your fingers, the last of the bleach-rough texture finally having been coaxed out by the copious masks and treatments he’d used since you’d mentioned it. It was long enough that you could thread your fingers through it and hold on, hold him to you.

 

He murmured something against your mouth, something incomprehensible, but it didn’t matter, because he didn’t stop kissing you. Instead, he pressed closer, even as he slowly untangled his embrace. Not that he gave you time to mourn the loss; before you could so much as whine in protest, one hot, long-fingered hand was sliding underneath your shirt.

 

You shivered, both at the touch and at what it promised. You slid one leg between his thighs, curving your body up against his, even as his fingers stroked along your ribcage. Being covered in a warm blanket of Jihoon was wonderful, and you were relishing every damn second of it.

 

His fingertips were rough against the soft skin that lay along your ribs, his callouses a delicious rough drag of friction n parts of your skin that rarely got more contact than the quick brush of your shirt or the scrub of your loofah in the shower each morning. It felt like every nerve you had ever had had gathered there, reaching for Jihoon, wanting the soft contact of his hands stroking over them. And what they wanted, he gave; he kept his touch light and gentle, but there was no doubting the intense desire behind the careful tracery of his fingers.

 

“I’m all yours, Jihoonie,” you promised, breaking the kiss for a deeper breath of air, trying to anchor yourself back to earth. “All yours.”

 

Jihoon said nothing, but that didn’t mean that he failed to respond. After a few seconds spent catching his breath, he dove back in and captured your lips in a rough, hungry kiss. It was much less gentle and far more telling than the earlier ones, but there was no less love and care in it. You kissed him back, just as desperate and wanting. You combed through his hair, stroked down his neck, played with the fine, downy hairs there at the very nape.

 

And then he bit your lip.

 

It wasn’t hard—not very hard at all—but there were definitely teeth, and just barest hint of force. You shivered again, unthinkingly dragging your nails down his back. They caught and pulled in the soft cotton of his shirt, but you weren’t paying any attention to that.

 

“You little shit,” you mumbled, feeling him laugh. You smacked his hip as he continued to snicker. “You going to take responsibility for what that did?”

 

He propped himself up, creating a little space between you, a little more room for your ribs to expand, a little more space for his hands to crawl beneath your shirt. “Really, noona?” he asked, his voice dark, eyes darker. “What, exactly, did I do?”

 

Your eyes narrowed. Oh, he knew what he’d done. He _so_ knew. But then, two could play at that game. Tightening all the muscles in your stomach, you raised yourself up, just slightly, so you could breathe in his ear, “Oh, Jihoonie, I’m so _wet_.” You finished the statement with a slight whimper, letting yourself fall back to the floor.

 

Above you, Jihoon looked like he’d been punched in the face. His pupils dilated, until his eyes were nearly lost in darkness. His lips parted, and his breath rushed hot and fast over his lips. “Noona,” he breathed, staring at you as if you might disappear at any moment, as if you were the every realization of his best and greatest dreams.

 

Using your grip on his back, you hauled yourself back up and kissed the wondering look off his face. You couldn’t stand to have him watching you like that, like you were something wonderful and valuable and perfect. So you kissed him, with all the force and the love you could muster. You drew him into your orbit and let yourself get lost in the hot trace of his tongue against your lips, the taste of him in your mouth, the feel of being pressed so close together and so deep into one another that you became one.

 

You could feel him hard against your thigh, a thick press of heat jutting up the meat of your thigh, into the dip of your hip. You shifted the angle of the leg he was straddling, just a little, giving him the room he needed to rut against it.

 

He groaned into your mouth, bracing himself against your hips. Once, twice, he thrust against your thigh, losing himself briefly in the rush of sensation.  After a moment, though, he drew himself back together, pausing the motion of his hips. He broke the kiss but didn’t let go of you, just rested his forehead against yours, his eyes closed, and breathed heavily.

 

Gently, so gently it nearly hurt, you stroked the high arch of his cheek bones, the dips beneath them. “Let’s move this,” you breathed, feeling the words colliding with his lips. “To the bedroom. Yeah?”

 

“Yeah,” he agreed, breathless. He opened his eyes—his eyelashes dragged soft against your cheeks. “Yeah, let’s take this… back there. Okay.” But he didn’t move.

 

You stifled a laugh. “C’mon, baby. Up you get.” You shoved gently at his shoulders.

 

Flushing, he shuffled up, finding his knees. He reached out for your hand. When you offered it to him, he caught it close in a surprisingly strong grasp. He tugged you upright, into a sitting position, and then moved and shoved himself to his feet. He helped you up, next, though he tugged so hard that you ended up swaying into his arms, into him. That made him grin.

 

Grinning back, you took advantage of the tight grip he still had on you and hauled him out of the kitchen and down the hall, down to the back of your apartment, to the master bedroom. You were grinning so broadly that you thought your face might split, or that you might pull something. You didn’t care, though. There was something so ineffably, unspeakably wonderful about having nearly six feet of Pyo Jihoon stumbling down the hall after you, sex stupid before you’d even gotten him out of his clothes. It was empowering. It was enticing. It was delicious.

 

You’d left the door to your room open when you’d gone to work that morning, not planning on bringing anyone home. That worked in your favor now, in the face of this unexpected windfall, as there was one less thing stopping you from getting Jihoon where you wanted him. And how you wanted him.

 

Thinking of the “how”, you stopped inches before your knees would have hit the edge of your mattress. Right. Jihoon was a wonderful sight and certainly a wonderful feel, but you could make that better. Like, three hundred times better. You let go of his hand and reached for the bottom hem of his shirt. “Yah, Jihoonie,” you said, getting his attention.

 

“Hmm?”

 

“Shirt, off.” You tugged on the offending fabric.

 

As the thought percolated and registered, he grinned saucily at you. “Off, huh? Only if you return the favor.” He threw in a leer at the end, his eyes very obviously coursing up and down over the line of your body, settling on your breasts for a long moment before he met your eyes once more.

 

You laughed, a deep, full-throated thing. “You got it,” you said, agreeing fully. You’d planned to lose your shirt sooner rather than later, anyway. Jihoon might have had his hands up it, and he’d gotten quite good at taking your bra off, sight unseen, but you were looking forward to the look on his face the first time he saw your bare breasts in all their glory.

 

In his eagerness to be rid of it, Jihoon managed to get tangled up in his shirt. He sorted himself out, laughing, and flung the unwanted ball of cotton off to the corner of your room. Then he sauntered forward, moving from the hips in a way that only dancers could, in a way that drew your eyes down, down, inexorably down until you were staring at the not-inconspicuous tent in his trousers.

 

He followed your eyes, followed the path of your staring, and laughed out loud when he saw your destination. Tongue caught between his perfect white teeth, he winked at you. “I’m happy to see you,” he explained.

 

You barked out a laugh, looking up into his face once more. “Happy to see me, huh?”

 

“Very happy,” he agreed, reaching down and giving himself a squeeze. His nostrils flared, and then he had you pinned in that laser gaze once again. “I’d be happier if you’d hold up your end of the bargain.”

 

“My end of the,” you started, confused, but it then it clicked. Your shirt. “Oh.”

 

You reached down, grasping the hem of your shirt in your fingers. Now that you were at this moment, you found yourself strangely nervous to remove your covering. He’d never seen you stripped down, before. Would he still like you after?

 

“Waiting,” he sang, smiling, though you could see the barest hint of worry in his eyes.

 

You took a deep breath, steeling up the courage to do what you needed to. Then, in one swift motion, you twisted your shirt up and over your head, raising your arms high. You let them droop, down and back, knowing that the position stretched you out wonderfully, lifting your boobs and lengthening your torso. You dropped the shirt, just let it fall behind you, feeling the heavy weight of Jihoon’s eyes on your bare skin.

 

He was silent. When you finally found the courage to look, you saw that he was staring at you, transfixed.

 

“Everything you dreamt of?” you asked.

 

“Yeah. And more,” he said, the words rushing out in a breathy tumble. “Can I…” He reached forward.

 

 You didn’t say anything, simply swayed forward, like you had ropes tied to you, drawing you near him. You brought yourself into his grasp, let him place his hands on you, felt yourself melt into the warm touch of him on your skin. He held you as one might a golden idol, with worship and awe in every trembling touch of his fingers.

 

Every heaving breath made your breasts swell against the lacy prison of your bra, until they threatened to overcome the cups. His fingers danced around the band, where it sat flat and firm against your chest, nails barely scratching against you every few seconds. You watched his hands, pale and long and beautiful, dancing across your skin, flitting like large, human butterflies, tasting you, darting on. He traced the lace-lined edge of the top of one cup with a delicately-held pinky, eyes flashing between your face and the milk-pale flesh of your breast. You inhaled sharply.

 

Biting his lip, Jihoon brought his fingers to rest against the jeweled clasp at the front of your bra. His eyes betrayed his nervousness, darting up to lock with yours, to seek your approval.

 

Breathless, you nodded.

 

He caught the clasp—appropriately, shaped like a tiny heart—between his thumb and his forefinger, and twisted just so. After a second’s pressure, the tiny join released, and your bra’s support fell away. Jihoon let go of the fine fabric in favor of sliding his hands sideways and down, gathering up the suddenly-free weight of your breasts, cradling them in his big hands. The motion pushed the cups up and away, until your bra was simply dangling by the straps over your shoulders. You could see your nipples flush and tighten as his thumbs trailed over them.

 

You could feel it, too, tiny electric flashes at the so-careful, nearly-frightened care with which he was touching you. “Jihoon,” you said, swallowing thickly, reaching up with one shaking hand to touch his face.

 

“Noona,” he said, licking his lips. “You’re beautiful.”

 

You blushed, your face rushing red and flaming heat in a moment. Oh, the power he had over you! Drawing back to yourself, you raised your hands to your flushed cheeks. “Charmer,” you accused. “You’re the pretty one.”

 

“Don’t be so sure,” he growled back, and he leant down to kiss you. He released your boobs, reaching to gather your hands, pulling them away from your cheeks, replacing them with his own as he teased your lips apart and licked in to taste at you.

 

For a moment, you clung to his forearms, simply holding on under the sensuous onslaught of his mouth where it covered yours. Never one to be passive, though, you soon let your fingers race up the straining tendons and well-built muscles of his biceps, up to his shoulders, down over the laddering build of muscle and rib of his back, until your hands settled at his narrow waist.

 

And then, as if they had a mind of their own—and maybe they did—your hands began to smooth down, down over his hips, down against the dip of his spine, down into that place where his butt met his back. You slipped one, two, three fingers down inside the back of his jeans, just teasing, then let more of your hand trickle into that dark space. Unable to resist temptation, you slunk one hand down far enough to get a good handful of his ass and just _squeeze_.

 

“Noona!” he laughed, startled, against your lips.

 

“These pants,” you muttered, straining up on your toes to kiss him again. “I want them off.”

 

He laughed, but the sound was choked. You could feel him blushing above you, could feel the heat of his cheeks.

 

“Jihoon?” you asked, pausing. You turned so that you could see him better. “Talk to me, baby.”

 

“I…” he started, then laughed again, then took a deep breath. “I haven’t done this much, noona.”

 

You hmmed acknowledgement, slowly fishing your hands from his jeans. You let them settle on his hips, thumb resting over a humming vein. “Have you ever done this before?”

 

“Yes!” he said, all startled indignation. At least for the moment. After that, he slowly subsided, and admitted, “just the once, though.”

 

“And you still want to do this,” you said, looking at him. “To have sex?”

 

He snorted. “Definitely, noona.” Grabbing one of your hands in his, he placed it square on the swell of his cock, trapped within his jeans. “Trust me. I want this.”

 

You let a slow smile creep across your face, wrapping your fingers around his stiff length as best you could, hampered by the denim. Slowly, deliberately, you began to stroke his trapped erection.

 

“It’s been a while for me,” you admitted, keeping your eyes focused on the motion of your hand, not looking at his face, just listening to the catch of his breath and the tiny whimpering moans that escaped his control. “So we’ll just take it slow, yeah?”

 

He groaned. “Slow’s not…not gonna last long…if you keep that up, noona,” he warned, grinding the words out between gritted teeth.

 

“What? Oh!” you said, suddenly releasing him and stepping back, away from temptation. “Sorry. I. Uh.” It was your turn to blush, and you did so furiously. “I’ve been thinking about this for way too long.”

 

“Really?” Jihoon panted, raising an eyebrow at you. As he spoke, his hands were occupied with the button fly of his jeans, working the stiff metal buttons out of their holes. “Noona! How dirty!”

 

“Shut it,” you said, raising a threatening finger in his direction. “I know what you do in the shower when I leave!”

 

Chuckling, Jihoon shoved his jeans down his muscular thighs, letting the rough denim take his briefs with it. “Everyone knows what I do in the shower when you leave,” he agreed, waggling his eyebrows. “It’s _hard_ to hide.”

 

You fell back against your mattress, snickering. As you worked on getting your own jeans off, you looked up at your boyfriend. “Anyway, it’s not my fault that the entire internet wants to know what you’re like in bed.” You paused, absentmindedly kicking one leg out of the clinging fabric. “Or that, you know, there’s some interesting theories.”

 

Jihoon grabbed the other leg of your jeans and yanked, tugging them off and tossing them god-knows-where. “So tell me about these theories,” he said, striding forward.

 

You let your eyes slide down his body as you spoke. “Well, apparently, you’re good with your…oh, thank _god_!”

 

He stopped, suddenly.

 

You realized you’d said that out loud. Oops.

 

“Noona?”

 

You grinned, the expression weak. “Ah, um. There may have been some conversation about how you’ve got a whale in your pants and I was kind of afraid but I’m glad to see that’s not true?”

 

Yeah, that didn’t get you very far. All it earned you was a look that was a painful mix of confused and hurt. Shit.

 

“Are you saying it’s…I’m…”

 

He clearly didn’t want to say it.

 

You couldn’t blame him; this was a seriously awkward conversation to be having. All the more so for the fact that you were both naked and he was standing between your parted legs. Talk about timing.

 

“No, no no no!” you assured him quickly. “No, no, bless, Jihoon. You are not small by any stretch of the imagination.” You gave his dick, now sunk to half-hardness, an appreciative look. “Just… okay, the internet’s obsessed with inhumanly large penises, okay? But that would be bad!”

 

“Bad?” he asked.

 

You nodded rapidly. “Seriously bad, Jihoonie,” you told him, stretching out one hand and wrapping it around his dick. It fit nicely into your hand—a good girth. You began to pump him, still trying to explain. “Like, you’ve got a big one, jagi. I promise. But the girls on the internet think it’s like, massive. And that would hurt, okay? Us girls, we’ve only got so much room, you know?”

 

He bit his lip, and for the second, looked so vulnerable.

 

“I love you, Jihoon,” you said, looking him dead in the eye as you said it. “You are beautiful and wonderful and I love every single inch of your body, okay?”

 

He nodded, reaching forward to tuck an escaped curl behind your ear. “I love you, too, jagi,” he said, strangely serious. “I just want this to be perfect for you.”

 

“It will be,” you said, raking your nails through the thick hair at the base of his cock and then up along his pelvis until you had a firm grip on his hips. You used it to yank him towards you. “Now get down here and give me something to blog about, yeah?”

 

He snickered weakly, even as he toppled over you. There was a moment of brief discombobulation as you both sorted out arms and legs and who owned what, but then he was draping over you, a living blanket of Pyo Jihoon, skin-hot and perfect.

 

“Something to blog about, hmm?” he purred, teasing your nipples with one hand, propping his head up with other. “Well, I’d hate to leave you without a story to tell…”

 

You bit back a gasp as he bent down and caught your left nipple in his mouth, sucking and tugging in concert with the action of his hand. Oh, but it felt so good! The heat of his mouth, coupled with the wet pull of his lips and the velvet-rough press of his tongue as it laved over you… You let your eyes slide shut and gave him free rein over you, one hand threaded through his hair as an anchor, not a control.

 

You were so wrapped up in the sensation of him laving his tongue across your intimate, untouched skin that you didn’t notice his hand sliding down your belly until his fingers were combing through your neatly-trimmed pubic hair. “Jihoon!”

 

He looked up at you, his head nestled between your breasts, and treated you to a dark, wicked smile. “Let me make it good, noona?” he said. Still watching you, he slid two fingers against your damp lower lips.

 

It was all you could do to keep your eyes on his. The girls on the internet had been right in their speculations; Jihoon was _damn_ good with his hands. He teased you for a while, sliding those long, perfect fingers along your most sensitive parts, slicking them through your wetness, flickering across your clitoris just to hear your broken whine. After a while, though—when you were a whimpering mess of sensations and shivers—he slid one finger in, slow, careful, and _deep_.

 

You jolted against him, crying out.

 

He stretched up, kissed you quiet, kept his fingers moving. He swallowed down your gasps and swears and the tiny broken sounds you made as his fingers pressed into you, searching and teasing and filling you in a way you had almost not realized you needed. He let you cling to him, let you dig your fingernails into the strong stretch of his shoulders, let you buck up, ride his hand. And then, all too soon, he was drawing his now-slippery fingers out of you, out from between your legs.

 

You could only watch, breathless and wanting, as he gave his glistening fingers a tentative lick.

 

His forehead wrinkled, and he quirked his lips, but he went back for a second taste. That led to him pulling one whole finger into his mouth, sucking it clean, and moving on to the next.

 

“Well?” you asked, starting to suspect it was his first time actually tasting a woman.

 

He frowned, then semi-shrugged. “Not bad,” he said. “Not awesome, either? But not bad.” He grinned, suddenly, bright faced. “Eating you out’s still on the table.”

 

“That’s good to hear,” you said, straining up to reach your bedside table. “Jihoonie, can you…?”

 

He rolled, covering you a little more, and reached up to where your fingers were straining. Catching the handle, he yanked the drawer open. Then he looked down at you, questioning.

 

“Small box, blue frog on the lid,” you told him. “Open it—condoms inside. Grab one.” You could hear the rattle of the ceramic as he did so, and then the slam of the drawer being closed. When he sat up, now fully straddling your hips, you reached up and stole the condom away from him. A quick pinch and a yank, and you had the packet open and were pulling out the latex.

 

You sat up quickly, holding the condom between two fingers. “Do you want to, or should I?”

 

Leaning forward, Jihoon wrapped a hand around the back of your neck and kissed you, sweet and wanting and wonderful. He tangled his other hand with yours and brought them, together, to his straining cock.

 

You pinched the thin latex tip and then quickly worked the latex sheath over him, arching yourself into his touch all the while. Jihoon’s hands stayed with you, holding you close and helping you work. For the moment, it was like the two of you had already become one.

 

And then you were becoming one in another way, your hand at the base of his cock, guiding him in, his hands holding you steady and open. He pressed in, slow, so slow, centimeters at a time, and you knew that the pace was killing the both of you. His eyes were squeezed shut, his jaw dropped, a low moan growling out between you. You could see his pulse racing in the straining angle of his neck.

 

You wanted to close your eyes but somehow you couldn’t. You needed to capture this moment, this first, amazing moment, in memory. The sight of Jihoon above you, the feel of his hands on you and the burning stretch of him in you—.

 

It should have hurt, the way he filled you up, the way he took up spaces that had never been touched before, and it maybe did, just a little. Not enough to make you stop, no, just enough that as he bottomed out you wrapped your arms around him and held him tight, tight against you, just trembling together.

 

Because he was shaking, too. His teeth, perfect and white, were buried in the lush swell of his lip, biting it to ruby red and swollen hot. His eyelashes were fluttering wildly against the high curve of his cheek, which was flushed brilliant pink and radiating heat. His arms strained to support his weight and his legs, tangled with yours, trembled.

 

After a moment, though, the sting of the unfamiliar stretch eased, and you could feel the _want_ and the _need_ rising in you once more. You closed your eyes, stretched your legs out, up, around his hips, until he was caged to you. Then you opened them once more, gratified to see that he, too, had opened his eyes. You stared deep into the velvety darkness and smiled. “You feel good, Jihoonie.”

 

He huffed a laugh, his belly moving against yours. “Here to serve, jagi,” he said, the words only slightly strained. Watching you closely, so very closely, he began to _move_.

 

You clutched tight to his shoulders and just _existed_ for a long, straining moment, letting him set the pace and the rhythm. You were drowning in sensation, in the heady whirl of _yes_ and _please_ and _oh, god, more_. Jihoon filled you like he had been made for you, and he seemed to have an unerring sixth sense as to how to fuck into you. He alternated between gentle thrusts and sharp, heavy jerks of his hips that always seemed to strike just right, until you were crying out with every thrust and your fingers were carving red trails in his back.

 

“Jihoon, please!” you begged, rutting up against him, awash in a sea of pleasure. “Right—right there!”

 

He obliged, laughing, a dull rush of sound and motion and human connection. He brought his hand down, to the place you were joined, and put the pad of his thumb on the swollen throb of your clit.

 

The sweet pressure was simply too much. Moaning, you let go of him, fisting your hands instead in  the soft sheets of your bed as you began to grind yourself against him, hard. You were so close—so close—!

 

“So close, so close, so close,” you chanted, unknowing.

 

Jihoon didn’t stop, kept fucking into you in perfect smooth strokes, bottoming out rough against your too-sensitive skin, easing back, thrusting again. He had the ideal rhythm going, and he timed it perfectly with the rub of his calloused thumb on your clit, with the slow way he was kissing down your jaw. Except that it was only half-kissing, because he was also panting hard, breath rushing hot and fast against your skin.

 

“That’s it, baby, come on,” he groaned, biting his lip. “Yeah, yeah, come on.”

 

And you were bursting into light, shattering, a thousand pieces of shimmering perfection. “Jihoon!” you screamed, feeling yourself slam down tight around him.

 

He grunted loudly, and you could feel him filling the condom, his cock twitching inside you. Soon, though, his muscles started to give out, and he let himself fall to the mattress beside you, still joined.

 

After you caught your breath—which took a few seconds—you carefully disengaged, hanging on to the condom. As much as you trusted Jihoon, three years of nursing school and an apprenticeship had left you very careful when it came to sex. You felt empty without him, and had to stop yourself from reaching down to where your pussy fluttered, shuddered, still trembling with want. Tying off the condom, you dropped it into the garbage bin near your bed, then snuggled back down with Jihoon.

 

He came back to himself slowly. One arm wrapped around you, holding you close, and he threw one leg over you. He began to stroke through the sweaty, sex-mussed tangle of your hair, even as he buried his face in your throat.

 

“Are you purring?” you demanded, cuddling closer.

 

He laughed, quietly, and helped you pull up the blanket you’d been reaching for. Damn his long arms, anyway. “No,” he murmured, kissing your collarbone. “Just…mmm. Happy.”

 

You snorted, tucking the blanket around the pair of you as you settled in for what promised to be a cozy nap. “Purring’s what happy cats do, Jihoonie.”

 

But he was already asleep.


End file.
